


Yes, Officer

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finds a unique way to keep Lestrade from arresting him for drug possession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Officer

I notice the light coming from the window of the abandoned house. The murder that had occurred there the year before had made it impossible to sell, and it had sat empty for several months.

Deciding I need the advantage of surprise, I slip in through one of the broken out side windows. Pulling out my baton, I move slowly towards the room I'd seen the light coming from. Entering a small kitchen, I press myself against the wall and slide over to archway into the next room. Carefully peeking around the corner, I'm stunned by what I see: In the adjoining living room, a young man named Sherlock Holmes is sitting on a ratty chair, reading a book by lamp-light.

Lowering my baton, I take a step forward. I wince as a floorboard beneath my foot squeaks. Sherlock turns, eyeing the archway

"I know you're there. Might as well come on out."

Sighing, I walk into the living room.

"Lestrade! This isn't your beat."

"I was on my way home when I saw the light," I reply. "What are you doing here?"

I've found Sherlock in a few disreputable places, but usually when he was using, or slumming for information. But this seemed different. He seemed to be...

"Are you... squatting here, Sherlock?"

"It's only temporary," he replies in a defensive tone.

"You can’t stay here."

"Why not? It's in habitable condition, no one else wants it-"

"That's not what I mean. Don't you have a better place to stay?" 

Even as I speak, the realisation hits me. I sigh. 

"Your brother cut you off again, didn't he?"

Sherlock glares at me in silence. I take it as a "yes". 

"Stand up."

Sherlock shakes his head. 

"You're not on duty."

"Just stand up," I reply. 

With anyone else, I'd have used a more authoritative tone, but I know that won't work with him. I pretty much have to hope he'll obey me. I'm actually a little surprised when he does, getting to his feet and looking me right in the eyes.

"I'm not on anything," he tells me. Looking into his pale yes, seeing his calm manner, noting his clear tone of voice, I can see he's telling me the truth.

It occurs to me that he said he wasn't using right now, but that doesn't mean he doesn’t have something for later.

"What have you got on you?"

"Oh, come on..."

"Don't make me search you, Sherlock."

At this, a look comes over his face, almost like he's... intrigued by the idea. No it's more than that...

I suddenly find the room we're in rather warm.

Looking away, Sherlock reaches into an inner pocket of his coat, pulling out a small bag of white powder.

"Sherlock..."

"I'm _not_ using," he repeats insistently. "I bought it about a week ago, as a test of resolve. And it's working!" 

Sherlock seems pleased with himself. And not without reason; if he _has_ managed to carry his drug of choice around for a week without using it, that's quite an accomplishment. But there is the law to consider...

"You realise just _possessing_ this is-"

"Seriously?" he interrupts. "Oh come on, Lestrade; we both know you're willing to bend the rules."

"If it helps catch dangerous criminals, yes!"

"And what does it 'help' to put me in jail for carrying something around in my pocket?"

I sigh, shaking my head.

"Lestrade, I can't-" Sherlock stops himself.

"What?"

The... intrigued look comes over him again. He steps toward me.

"I could make it worth your while to look the other way." Sherlock's already deep, resonant voice his somehow gotten _deeper_ , and is ragged with... lust? 

Suddenly he's on his knees in front of me. He slowly licks his soft, full lips.

Oh, God, there is _so_ much wrong with this. I need to stop this. I should tell him to stand up, to stop looking at me with that expression, to...

"Unzip me."

He reaches up, his fingers shaking as he undoes my fly. I'd think he was actually nervous, maybe having second thoughts, if I hadn't seen him acting before. He's quite good at it.

"Open my fly and pull my prick out."

Sherlock looks up at me. He looks scared, and suddenly looks very young. 

"Do it."

"Y-yes, all right..."

"'Yes' what?"

"I don't...?"

I pull out my baton, hooking it under his chin and using it to tilt his head up to look at me.

"'Yes, _officer_ '."

The look of fear is gone; the look of desire his back. His tongue flicks out, just for a second. 

"Yes, officer."

Oh, Jesus. The sound of his voice goes right to my groin. It's lovely and deep; yet young, and with a wonderful hint of fear and vulnerability. I love it. I tell myself it's okay; after all, he's faking. 

He pulls me out; I catch a hint of a smile at the sight of my half-hard cock. He quickly falls back into character, looking up at me with confusion and fear, even as his thumb strokes the underside of my prick.

"You like it don't you?"

"Yes," he replies, his voice breaking a bit. It's a wonderful touch.

I narrow my eyes. I'm still holding my baton; I poke him roughly in the shoulder.

"What is that?"

"Yes, officer," he corrects.

I smile. 

"Good boy."

I slide the baton up the side of Sherlock's face, almost stroking it. His eyes close and he shudders, letting out a soft moan. I'm pretty sure I do the same.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

"Show me how much you like it, Sherlock... kiss it."

He leans forward, his soft lips touch the smooth skin of my cock.

"Oh, God..."

Sherlock looks up at me; this time his self-satisfies smirk stays... he's mocking me.

I grab his thick curly hair, forcing his head back. He lets out a cry; I think I actually might have hurt him. I pause, but he says nothing. The smirk is gone; he looks apprehensive. 

"Suck it."

"I-"

I shove his head forward.

"Suck. It."

A second later, my prick is enveloped in the wet warmth of Sherlock's mouth. He licks the tip of my cock, then his tongue slowly works upwards. I look down; the sight of Sherlock's lips around my cock is all it takes to finish me off. I shoot down his throat, groaning and swaying as my legs go weak. 

I back away from Sherlock. He smiles and licks his lips. 

I tuck myself back into my pants. My bravado from a moment before is completely gone. Sherlock might have been the one on his knees, but I'm the one who feels dirty and ashamed.

"You... I... this was wrong..."

Sherlock practically jumps to his feet. He looks angry.

"If that means you still intend to arrest me-"

"No... no. But this... this can’t happen again."

Sherlock smirks.

"Fuck you."

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Indeed, Sherlock's smirk just gets wider.

"I'm serious, Sherlock." I hold up the bag. "This can't happen again, either."

Sherlock actually looks a bit embarrassed at this. Perhaps he's acting, but I choose to read it as sincere.

"Where's the bathroom?"

Sherlock's eyes flick to the bag between my fingers. After a moment, he points.

"I'll show you."

I follow him to the bathroom. As soon as we get there, I open the toilet lid and drop the small bag into it. I flush it down, turning to watch Sherlock's reaction. His expression is completely neutral.

"All right," I say. "Now we need to find you a better place to stay."

"I'm fine here," Sherlock says.

"Like hell." 

I have a terrible thought; one I'll probably come to regret.

"Why don't you come stay with me?"

Sherlock snorts. "Yes, that'll end well."

"Have you got a better idea?" 

Sherlock is silent.

"C'mon, let's go," I say, nodding towards the door.

After a pause, Sherlock smiles and heads outside.

This might end badly, but at least it'll be interesting.


End file.
